


My Name Is Might Have Been (might be)

by gala_apples



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Stiles thought soulbonds were stupid, and one time he- nope, still stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name Is Might Have Been (might be)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Celebrity Skin by Hole.

Przemyslaw is seven, and he’s snooping. 

He’s going to be in so much trouble if his dad finds out. Maybe not his mom. His mom’s been acting weird, lately. She yells at people in stores now. She used to just do that at fast food restaurants if someone got their order wrong, but now everything makes her angry. And she started smoking, and it makes everything smell but Dad won’t tell her to stop even though smoking causes cancer. That’s why Przemyslaw is snooping. Every time his dad goes into the den and closes the door Przemyslaw finds out more stuff about Mom. If he knows enough he can form a hypothesis then make a solution, just like the enriched science class he gets pulled out of normal class to attend once a week.

Except Dad isn’t talking to Grandpa, or Uncle Samuel. He’s talking to Scott’s mom. And not even because she’s a nurse and does hypothesis-method-solution all day at work to make people better. He’s talking to her about Scott’s dad.

“I never thought leaving Rafe meant leaving my family too, but they won’t stop.”

“They’re taking it badly?”

Scott’s mom starts talking in a fake voice, like she’s reading them a chapter from Harry Potter at a sleepover. “You can’t leave him, Melissa. It’s destiny, Melissa. Divorce is rare for a reason, Melissa. Ugh, I just wanted to laugh in Maria’s face and say yes, because it’s expensive and the system is crap. Even my first lawyer asked me if I was sure.”

“But you told them about the abuse?”

Scott’s mom makes this noise that Scott makes when he’s about to start crying. Przemyslaw doesn’t like it at all. Too many adults have been crying around him lately. “Apparently one time doesn’t count. Mama actually said it’s not like he did it sober, Lissa. Like it’s okay to push a child down a flight of stairs. How am I supposed to love him after that? How can they even want me to?”

She starts crying for real and Przemyslaw wants to run in and hug her, like you’re supposed to because empathy. Przemyslaw knows all about empathy, because he also gets to leave class to do art with Mrs Dietz. But if Dad knows he spies he might talk about Mom somewhere else, and if Przemyslaw doesn’t have all the information, all the research, how can he hypothesis-method-solution fix it? But it’s kinda okay. Scott’s mom found her own solution already. She just has to stay divorced to Mr McCall, and stick her tongue out at people who don’t like it.

Soulbonds are stupid, Przemyslaw decides. Listening to a soulbond made Scott’s mom cry. Wondering about why he has four names makes Scott worried and confused. Not paying attention is what makes them happy. Przemyslaw pokes at his chest. He’s not going to care about Derek Donovan. Not one bit. He’ll even make his name a secret. If he doesn’t go by his first or middle name Derek Donovan can’t find him.

***

Stiles is ten, in fourth grade, and doesn’t like having substitute teachers.

Stiles knows Ms Edwards left a lesson plan on her desk. He’s the roll call helper so he gets to touch the stuff on her desk, and he saw the post-it note. Mrs Marling isn’t following it. She’s not even falling back on watching an semi-educational movie, which most kids like but Stiles hates because sitting still at his desk for over an hour is impossible, handful of popcorn on a napkin or not. Instead Mrs Marling is teaching her own lessons. Stiles doesn’t like it. He concentrated really hard to finish the homework, a whole night of working in fifteen minute chunks and then getting breaks to play, and he doesn’t even get to turn it in for grades. It’s not fair.

Still, Stiles has to admit that her math about tangrams and her social studies about the Civil War is interesting. But then it’s health, and instead of talking about germs or tooth brushing, she starts talking about soulbonds. How as they begin to hit puberty, the most important thing in their lives should be finding their soulmate. She found Megan Jaquelin when she was twelve and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. And then because kids are morbid, some start asking questions like ‘what if you never find them?’ 

Stiles knows he shouldn’t be here right now. If he was smart he’d run from the room. He’d go visit Mrs Dietz, and she’d be all nice and guidance counsellory at him, and she wouldn’t let his dad get called because that just makes Stiles more panicky, thinking he might distract his dad on the job. But he is here, because he’s frozen. He’s nail gunned in place, stuck listening to everyone be so stupid. His knee isn’t even jiggling, which Stiles would have thought was impossible. Right now every desk is arranged in a four desk square, and Jackson beside him and Madison across from him always get mad that he makes their desks move. He keeps hoping they’ll go back to the big U shape so Madison stops throwing paper balls at him.

“The most important thing is to not get desperate. Don’t marry someone just because. It’s worth it to wait for your soulmate. There are so many benefits, not just emotionally, but physically.”

And that’s when Jackson elbows him. “You hear that? Your mom wasn’t crazy. She died because your dad shouldn’t’ve married her.”

Stiles loses it, a little, maybe. There’s a row of juice boxes in his desk, they’re just short enough to stand upright if he pokes the straw almost all the way down. Every time he wants to cry he takes a sip instead. He’s gone through two today already. Art class is hard because Mom used to let him tape pictures to the guest room walls once she started sleeping there. His old desk buddy Kaylee complained it wasn’t fair that he could drink in class, but Ms Edwards ignored her and no one else has said anything. Stiles jams his arm into the hollow of his desk and pulls out his open juice box and throws it at the sub, then twists and launches himself at Jackson. His chair and desk topples. 

For a second Jackson doesn’t care, he yells ‘my cake’ as the desk goes over and his lunch dessert probably smears over the inner top of his desk. But then Stiles grabs their English reader and smashes Jackson in the face. Stiles isn’t sure what a broken nose looks like, his dad won’t let him watch WWF, but from the way Jackson is screaming he thinks maybe.

***

Stiles is twelve and Lydia Martin has just turned twelve.

Stiles is aware that it’s pathetic to think of that as a mutual tie that can be bonded on, considering that by summer break everyone will be twelve. But Stiles is willing to cut himself a break on the patheticness, because he’s even more aware he just attended a Lydia Martin party for the last time. It is very clear she’s on the cool, popular path. Stiles knows he’ll never be. She’s just turned old enough that parties are no longer classroom wide affairs. Stiles is sure her next will be invite only, and he will not get a fancy card printed at Kinkos.

His looming unpopularity doesn’t bother him much in grand scheme of things. There are tons of rom-coms about people of two different social classes falling in love.

The real problem is the fact that Lydia is traditional. Stiles knows because in a moment of unimaginable courage, he asks Lydia where she wanted her birthday kiss. Frankly he would be happy to kiss toenails. Lydia’s probably got perfect feet. Her parents are rich, so she probably gets manicures from that spa in town, instead of just painting them herself with polish from Walmart.

She slides her classy pink sunglasses a little down her nose so she can make eye contact. “Funny. You don’t look like Bethany Elizabeth.”

Because heaven forbid she ever kiss, or even look at a different person than her Name. Traditional people are so annoying about that sort of purity. Stiles doesn’t roll his eyes because he doesn’t want to get kicked out before cake time, but as he wanders away from her he decides to find Scott. He’ll be here somewhere, and he’s a pretty good audience for any rant or ramble Stiles might have.

***

Stiles is fifteen, and absolutely fascinated by the new kid. As will be almost all the school, as soon as they find out.

Normally Danny would draw attention because of his Hawaiian origins, or the fact that he’s a jock if ever there was one, or even his cute smile. But now, as they change for gym, he faces the rest of the locker room. It’s a mistake Stiles never makes. You never know who might have a brother or cousin or friend from the internet who knows a Derek Donovan. Same reason Scott -and most guys- do change facing others; because being tied down freshman year is somehow appealing. He’s even heard that guys who play away games on various teams take their shirts off with flimsy excuses like wiping away sweat, between innings or heats or whatever. So at first Stiles thinks Danny’s just another guy in the brainwashed masses. Then every other guy starts muttering and Stiles has to know. Lydia and stupid fucking Jackson started dating, ostensibly to get some hetero sex under their belts with the promise that if Bethany or Daniel Brock are found they’ll dump the other unceremoniously. Maybe Daniel is Danny, the proof cemented by Danny’s chest baring Jackson Victor. Maybe Lydia’s back in the market. Stiles can do something temporary.

Except that’s not it. When Stiles turns to see what the big deal is, Danny’s chest is bare. Danny’s. Chest. Is. Bare. It’s a _huge_ deal. The odds against it are astronomical, like a genetic experiment unleashing dinosaurs upon the world, or the Westboro Church not blaming everything on Three-ers like Scott. It’s everything Stiles could want, and he can practically feel Danny turning into a Lydia-esque ideal, a fetishization object in his head.

Then Greenberg blurts out ‘you mean no one will ever want you?’ like a moron. The words trigger Jackson, surprise surprise. He shoves Greenberg into the nearest locker and tosses an arm over Danny’s bare shoulders. “Let’s blow this class.”

“I’m not hiding,” Danny says staunchly.

“Obviously not, you just showed everyone. But if we leave you can help me pick out the car I’m getting when I turn sixteen.” 

Everyone knows it’s a stake being claimed when they hear it, even if Danny doesn’t. Jackson is rich, and hella-picky about his designer shit. Giving Danny the opportunity to help him choose which fifty thousand dollar car he wants is like the holy grail. It’s proof that without bond names deep relationships can still form. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if by the end of the week the Lydia & Jackson Show turns into Lydia & Jackson & Danny.

***

Stiles is sixteen, and half the time he walks into a room Derek’s inside, he gets hard. It’s inconvenient, but the sex ed pamphlets he stole from the nurse’s office when he was a tiny fourth grade rebel prepared him before his time for all sorts of embarrassing events. Really, his voice changing wasn’t nearly half as bad as he thought it would be.

Stiles would classify it a five on the scale of ‘everyone look at me, I’m dancin’ crazy!’ to abject humiliation. Essentially neutral. It’s like the classic tree-based philosophy; if a boner gets popped near two werewolves and no one comments on the hormone surge, did it really happen? Besides, in all honesty, the dark side of the scale has it’s appeal. Stiles is a worldly fellow. He found his kind of porn just a little while after he found porn in general, and in his kind of porn one person is usually nice, while the other(s) usually are not. 

He’s not sure how Scott hasn’t put it together. _Derek_ plus surges of emotions? Even if he hasn’t seen any official documents about the Hales like Stiles has, Scott still has the benefit of his nose. Not to mention Derek trains shirtless with the jumble of letters on his chest showing more often than not. Scott might have called him Press when they were toddlers for the inability to actually pronounce the whole name, but he should still remember it.

But it doesn’t matter. Scott doesn’t need to have figured it out himself, because it’s not reciprocated. Two days ago Stiles asked Derek if he wanted to go for a coffee, or maybe watch a movie at his place, since the Hale house has no electricity. As far as first date gambits go, pretty safe. And what did Derek do? He laughed. He didn’t even bother to say no, just laughed and walked away. Derek doesn’t even like him enough to rewatch Indiana Jones. Soulmates are infallible Stiles’ ass. It might not be on the level of Melissa and Mr Douchebag FBI, but it’s just as hard in it’s own way.

***

Stiles is seventeen and he’s traumatized as shit. So is Scott. Honestly, at this stage in the game they’re basically taking turns sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

They keep saying the same things, but that doesn’t matter. They’re not trying to entertain the other, keeping it fresh is not a requirement. Hell, Stiles could repeat one syllable for an hour and he knows Scott would listen the whole time. It’s what best friends do.

Right now it’s Scott’s turn. “I just... I can barely look at Kira now. I know it’s not her fault. I know it’s not fair. I just look at her and I think about all the things I imagined the three of us having, when Allison was done fooling around with Isaac. Looking at her and thinking about how stupid I was makes me want to hurl.

“You’re not stupid,” Stiles reassures. “The odds were on your side.”

He’s not just placating Scott. It’s true. For the rare people who are born with multiple names, the numbers skew vastly to polyamory. But there are widows. Most people whose soulmate dies eventually have a ‘second tier’ relationship with a person of their choosing, not fate’s. Only one in about a hundred thousand have a second soulmate. The only experience rarer is someone who divorces a first soulmate to marry a second. 

Scott’s a True Alpha and he’s one of three hundred and eighty people in California to have a widow-mate. He really is the specialest snowflake in the land. Stiles would find it interesting, have a thesis statement somewhere in there about how the same people rack up all the game achievements, if he couldn’t see how much it hurts Scott.

***

Stiles is nineteen and Derek is menacing, a verb, in his general direction.

“Let me see your chest, Stiles.”

“No.”

“Stiles, stop being an idiot.”

“No! I mean, I’m not, and my shirt is staying _on_.” He wishes he was in his bedroom right now. He’d crack Derek on the head with his baseball bat _so_ hard. Unfortunately he’s in headquarters, and the closest weapon he’s accurate with is beyond a ring of nosy, supposed-friends.

“Stiles!”

“Growling my name doesn’t make me have to obey. I’m not your beta.” He’s not Scott’s beta either, but he feels pretty goddamn betrayed that Scott isn’t defending him. Best friends for fifteen years should count for something.

“No, you’re a human, which means I can-” Ethan doesn’t finish his sentence, just tosses Stiles against a wall softly enough that nothing crunches, then slices through his Godzilla shirt with a claw. The way the shirt droops doesn’t show all of Derek Donovan, but it shows enough.

“Goddamn it,” Stiles mutters.

“We’ve known each other three years, Stiles! Why-” Derek breaks off, and it’s complete bullshit. He’s acting the wounded party. _He_ is? Stiles fucking refuses.

“No. No, do not even. I asked you out before we even knew that Peter was the Alpha. You thought it was hilarious. You laughed in my face. And before any of you say that that was one time, he’s grown as a human being, I hit on you with about the same frequency as I do Danny. You’ve never once replied positively!”

“Stiles, I’ve dated three people who weren’t my bond. Paige died in my arms. Kate murdered my entire family. Jennifer killed a bunch of people, almost including your dad. It became pretty clear that dating outside the bond doesn’t work and I haven’t had the time to go to _Poland_.” Derek defends his actions. Of course he wouldn’t apologise, Derek Hale doesn’t apologise.

“Seriously, that name. No wonder he goes by Stiles,” Isaac whispers to Lydia. Stiles wants to yell at him, even though he doesn’t actually disagree.

“Why didn’t you just show me?”

Oh, the things Stiles would do with a baseball bat. Fucking righteous traditional asshat. “Why the hell would I? Why the hell would I blackmail you into thinking we’re Prince Charming happily ever after when half the time you can’t stand me?”

Kira protests. “It’s not blackmail. It’s love.”

“Gimme a fuckin’ break, Kira. Half the room’s parents are divorced, and the kid whose parents chose each other instead of obeying a letter shaped birthmark don’t fit that category.”

“I don’t can’t stand you.”

“Great. Glad I’m not repulsive.” Stiles begins buttoning his plaid overshirt. He doesn’t have anything to hide anymore, but it’s not exactly something he wants to flaunt either.

“I mean, I like you,” Derek says with difficulty.

“Since when? Since you figured out Stilinski was a Polish name?” It seriously better not have been Scott to help him connect the dots between unpronounceable name and the only guy in town to use only a nickname, or he’s fired as best friend.

“I’ve liked you for a while. It just wasn’t safe to.”

“Yes, because I’d totally burn down your condo.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. “He meant you’re a Paige, not a Kate, dumbass.”

Of all the stupidest fucking things. They could have been together for years now, if Derek wasn’t such a superstitious traditionalist ass. It’s so annoying Stiles could spit. “You’re not cursed. If I was gonna die it would be from the monster of the month, not because fate demands it. And what makes you think I even still want you?”

Derek gestures to his own chest.

“Wrong answer,” Isaac mutters, and Stiles can practically feel Scott’s wince and Danny’s sneer, though he can’t see them from where he’s standing like the lead actor on a theatre in the round. It’s a few years into Pack life too late to complain about the audience though. Besides, they’re right.

Stiles deploys his harshest glare. He’s had a lot of practice, flanking supernatural friends in the stand-offs before battle. Plus he’s on his college’s debate team, and it never hurts to unsettle the other side. “Just because I jerk off to you and want to hang out with you doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

“But that’s what-”

Stiles points a finger at Kira and glares and she stops mid-sentence. “I refuse to let our bodies blackmail it into happening.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Stiles practically has an aneurysm. He’s not sure Derek’s ever said those words before, not even when he’s been spectacularly in the wrong.

“I should have said yes earlier. If you asked again I’d say yes. I can’t help that it’s partly because now it feels safe to say yes.”

It’s head-buttingly annoying when he frames it as an anxiety issue. It’s still stupid, but Stiles’ panic attacks are stupid and don’t care about how they mar his psyche either. He pokes Derek in the chest. “A trial run. With stipulations.”

“Fine. Sure.” Derek doesn’t ask what they are, and he probably wouldn’t. That’s why he’s not the brains of the operation. Stiles and Lydia always read small print.

“You never call me by that,” Stiles points to the Przemyslaw on Derek’s pec and means it. “Once I think of a design you have to werewolf pain suck so I can tattoo over mine. You never brag to anyone about ‘fate’,” he air quotes, “and we’re never getting married because I’m not checking soulbond on a government form. Ever.”

“Aren’t you allowed freshmen off-campus housing if you have proof of soulbond?” Danny questions. He’s right, though Stiles is surprised he bothers to know that, considering he’ll never get any soulbond exemptions.

“I will sleep beside a guy who drinks only beer and has twelve hotplates. And listens only to Nickelback.” Like hell is Stiles buying into the system.

Derek shrugs slightly. “I already said fine.”

“Come on, everyone out. Lets give Derek and Przemyslaw a minute,” Ethan says, completely butchering it. 

Stiles is pretty sure that the next sound is Scott tossing the dick against the wall, but he doesn’t look over, just trusts in the power of friendship to get shit done while he lets himself really look at Derek for the first time in months. Stiles knows better than to trust that the soulbond will give him this forever, but he’s got tonight, at least.


End file.
